


i picture it soft & i ache

by erce3



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mutual Pining, Trans Catra (She-Ra)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erce3/pseuds/erce3
Summary: Catra sighs and pulls out a check, waving it in front of Adora’s nose until she snatches it and surveys it. She watches Adora’s eyes bug out and grins triumphantly. “I happen to know,” she says calmly, “that your organization applied for a grant with my company. I also happen to know that our sales have gone up since people started talking about my relationship with you.”“Our fake relationship,” corrects Adora.*or, ceo catra & non-profit runner adora pretend to date for posterity
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 826





	i picture it soft & i ache

**Author's Note:**

> as a sidenote: capitalism bad, silicon valley has huge problems, ceo catra hot :/

Yes yes yes I do like you. I am afraid to write the stronger word.

Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West

This is not a love story, but love is in it. That is, love is just outside it, looking for a way to break in.

LIGHTHOUSEKEEPING, Jeanette Winterson

_The reporter shoves a microphone into Adora’s face. Adora flinches and pulls it back a bit, looking a little like she’s trying to remember to breathe. “Right,” she says, for the fifth time this interview. “So LGBT youth — even in blue states, like our own — are overwhelmingly affected by homelessness compared to their cisgender, heterosexual counterparts.”_

_“Okay,” says the reporter. “Is that your official comment on Catrina de León’s—”_

_“Look,” says Adora, closing her eyes and letting out a heavy breath. Her face so painfully reveals her annoyance; she’s clearly wondering why everyone keeps asking her about Catra. “We barely know the context for that video clip. She says stuff in passing she doesn’t really mean. She doesn’t actually believe LGBT homelessness isn’t a problem; she just complains a lot. Anyway, that isn’t really why we agreed to interview you—”_

_“How can you know that for sure?”_

_“I know her, okay!” Adora shouts, and then screws up her mouth and takes another gulp of air. “Sorry, I just — can we please get back to the issue—”_

Catra slams her laptop shut and glares at Scorpia, who’s standing next to her desk. “And the _logical leap_ the internet took is that we’re dating,” she says flatly, pulling at a strand of hair that’s fallen out of her bushy ponytail. Of _course._ They haven’t even spoken in years, and Adora pulls a stunt like this. “Wait. Let me guess. Someone stalked her instagram and found a picture of us from like, 2015, or something.”

Scorpia cringes. “Yeah, something like that.”

Catra places her head against her desk and lets out a long suffering, unprofessional groan. “Great,” she says. “Absolutely fantastic.”

“It doesn’t sound fantastic, boss.”

“Because it isn’t,” she snaps. Of all the people, _Adora._ Scorpia fidgets for a moment in her place, watching Catra with the concern and love of a true friend; it makes Catra itch and feel out of place. She goes to take a sip of her coffee to distract herself, but once she brings the cup to her lips, she finds that it’s empty. “Kyle? Kyle? Can you get me another coffee?”

“My name isn’t Kyle,” says her new assistant, who has blue hair and an undercut; Scorpia keeps commenting about how cool it looks.

Catra rolls her eyes. “And I care because…?”

“Right,” says Kyle.

Catra smiles slowly and lazily as her assistant rushes out the door to get her a coffee. Then she turns to Scorpia and groans again, mostly for dramatic effect. Her email _dings_ with a notification: another request for an interview. The fourth today. Everyone keeps contacting her — through Twitter, through email, through fucking _LinkedIn_ — to ask her about whether or not there’s any truth to the Adora rumor.

It’s driving her crazy. She pauses and scans over the request. It’s from a big magazine — this is a pretty big deal. Something about her relationship between her business and personal life; namely, being a trans lesbian. It annoys her for a second, and then she stops. Scorpia seems to notice her shift from frustration to deviousness, because she stops too, and eyes Catra with a wary expression.

Catra puts on a faux-thoughtful expression. “I mean, it _was_ pretty bad for the company when someone caught me saying I didn’t care about homeless youth, you know.”

“Yup,” says Scorpia carefully.

“And not only have sales risen since then, but people all of a sudden have been contacting me for interviews as the youngest lesbian CEO in Silicon Valley…”

Scorpia shifts again, then takes a seat at Catra’s desk. She leans forward and puts her hand on her chin, looking equally devious. “Right…” And then she blinks, pulls back, and scrunches her face in confusion; Catra sighs inwardly. “Wait a moment, what? I’m _really_ not following here.”

“Dating Adora has done wonders for my reputation,” Catra explains.

“But you and Adora—”

“Have been dating for a while now. Don’t you remember?” She’s looking at Scorpia with her best, most obvious, this-is-a-scheme expression.

Scorpia continues to look at her blankly. “I—no?”

“You _sure_?” she says, a little more forcefully.

“No, I don’t—” Scorpia pauses and looks at Catra’s suggestive expression. “Wait.” She leans in again, a semi-conspiratorial smile stretching over her mouth. “Ohhh! Oh...I ‘remember’ now.” She beams back at Catra, evidently pleased with herself for figuring it out, and because Catra can’t stop encouraging her, because her smiles are _so infectious,_ Catra gives her a grin in return.

“Great,” says Catra. “I’m going to need to contact Adora to, you know, _jog_ her memory.”

“Right. Of course, right…wait, wildcat? How are we gonna do that?”

“I have an idea,” says Catra innocently, and smiles again. “I’m gonna near DT’s help, though.”

Adora is having a hell of a day, what with all this sudden interest in her _nonexistent_ relationship with Catra and still not getting enough donations to keep the nonprofit running. It’s ridiculous, and it’s making her go insane. She tells all of this to Glimmer, of course, who’s heard this rant probably three or four times today, but Adora’s _mad,_ okay, she has _every right_ to keep complaining.

“Uh huh,” says Glimmer, who keeps looking down to her monitor, where the security camera footage is. “This is really, um, important stuff, Adora, but there’s someone at the main desk who’s apparently demanding to see you.”

Adora sighs. “If it’s another reporter who won’t help us with donations, tell them to take their microphone—”

“Wow, you really are _pissed_ ,” says Catra at that moment. Adora blinks in surprise. Catra’s opened the door to Adora’s office herself, and Glimmer rolls her eyes, motioning at Catra as if to say _see, I tried to tell you._ Adora swallows; she hasn’t seen her in years, but Catra looks mostly the same. Her hair is longer, and up in a ponytail. She doesn’t wear that headband anymore. Those are really the only noticeable differences.

Catra twirls a lock of hair that’s fallen out of her ponytail and surveys the office.

_Focus, Adora._ “Catra! Wh—what are you doing here?”

“Just offering a personal donation,” says Catra lightly, in a tone that makes it sound like she’s really, really, not just here for that. 

Glimmer looks between Catra and Adora, pulls a face, and makes a quick exit. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she says by way of excuse, which really means, _talk to her, Adora_ in Glimmer. 

Adora watches her go and gives her an unimpressed stare, then turns her attention back to Catra. She narrows her eyes. “I mean, what do you _want_?”

Catra smiles and walks around the room Adora uses as her office. “This is cozy,” she says instead, picking up a stack of sticky notes and inspecting them, like they will impart some secret knowledge onto her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She puts the sticky notes back down in the _wrong place_ and then picks up a pen from the mug Adora uses as a pen holder.

“Can you—” Adora carefully puts the sticky notes in the right place again “—stop touching my stuff?”

Catra drops the pen on the floor and picks up her planner in response. “Can you ask nicely?”

“Can you _please_ stop touching my stuff,” seethes Adora, slamming her pen back into its mug and snatching back her planner.

“Anything for my girlfriend,” says Catra with a saccharine smile, and puts her hands up. 

“Oh. I see. You’re pissed about that, and look, I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t mean to—”

Catra sighs and pulls out a check, waving it in front of Adora’s nose until she snatches it and surveys it. She watches Adora’s eyes bug out and grins triumphantly. “I happen to know,” she says calmly, “that your organization applied for a grant with my company. I also happen to know that our sales have gone _up_ since people started talking about my relationship with you.”

“Our _fake_ relationship,” corrects Adora.

“But they don’t know that,” says Catra calmly. “That brings me to the _third_ thing I happen to know. I happen to know that your organization is going bankrupt, and I have the resources to help it succeed. Think of this as an…” she trails her pointer finger along the ridge of Adora’s desk, pausing for dramatic effect, “... _unconventional_ business deal.”

“Wait. You want me to pretend we’re dating because it helps your sales? No way.” Adora repeats herself, lower and more punctuated: “No. Way.”

Catra frowns and snatches back her check. “Then I suppose your organization doesn’t need the money.”

“I mean—” Adora makes a grab for the check, but Catra pulls it out of reach “—it _does,_ but this is morally wrong. Bribery.”

“An arrangement,” corrects Catra, “that is mutually beneficial.”

“I can’t agree to this. You know I can’t.”

“Fine,” says Catra, folding the check and putting it into the front pocket of her crimson suit jacket. She smiles — catlike, snakelike, _evil._ Adora wants to wipe that _stupid smirk_ off of her face; all it would take would be a good punch. “I just think that perhaps you should reconsider. We can set up a meeting, you know, coffee or something, and discuss the possibility of my donating, if you want.”

“Catra—”

“Call me,” says Catra smoothly. “I’d love to hear from you, but I understand if you don’t want my donations, or to pitch your nonprofit to my wealthy friends, or the support of my company.” She smiles a little wider. “I mean, it always has been rather important to you to be, I don’t know, moral and just or whatever. It has been some time, though. Maybe you’ve changed.” The last bit is light, carefully working its way around bitterness.

“I’ll have you know,” says Adora, “the whole point of running a _nonprofit_ is being ‘moral’ when it comes to donations.”

Catra cocks an eyebrow. “Actually, I thought the whole point was to, you know, provide living spaces for homeless LGBT youth.”

“I—argh, you are _impossible_!”

Her expression softens momentarily. “That wasn’t your catchphrase back in college.”

“Well,” says Adora stiffly, “things change.”

“Yeah,” Catra replies briskly, making a movement towards the door; the look on her face shutters and then darkens. “Things change.” And then, as an afterthought, “Call me, Adora. It would really be beneficial for the both of us.” And then she’s gone, and Adora’s oscillating door is the only evidence she was here, in her office, after all these years.

Catra goes home and pours herself a glass of wine. She checks her phone almost as an instinct — another interview of hers on her Twitter feed. For a moment she considers reading it, and then for another she reconsiders if this ‘dating Adora’ scheme is self-destructive or not.

It’s been a long time since she and Adora were friends — if friends is ever the right word for what they were in college. What Catra remembers most about Adora is the way she fit in her arms, on her bed, the sort of jigsaw fit that slotted perfectly into her life. She hates how well she remembers their too-close friendship, their schemes, the intensity of love she held for Adora.

(She likes to think Adora loved her once, too.)

She shakes her head to clear the thought and begins to scroll through her friends’ tweets on her private account. Entrapta is busy with another project and is tweeting off-and-on about it, like she gets guilty for clogging up people’s feeds. Scorpia’s on another cat video binge and keeps commenting under _every single video,_ and though Catra should be annoyed, she can’t help but find herself amused.

Catra’s not — she’s not exactly where she thought she would be in undergrad, in the way that Catra at nineteen and then twenty and then twenty-one thought she’d always be attached at Adora’s hip. But she’s not _unhappy_ about it; in fact, she realizes, reading a comment from Scorpia that says, _wow! look at this little guy go! so adorable xxx_ — in fact, she’s proud of who she’s become.

She takes a sip of her wine. Maybe, she thinks, in her empty apartment with a great view but not much else — maybe dating Adora for posterity’s sake won’t be so self-destructive as she’s worried it will be. (She knows, after all, Adora’s going to cave and say yes.) She’s okay. She’s been okay for a long time now. She’s worked hard and succeeded.

That, for now, is enough.

“I don’t know, Bow,” Adora groans into her arms, “this just feels wrong.”

“I mean,” says Bow, “I wouldn’t say it’s upstanding citizen stuff, no.”

“But,” Adora says for him.

“But,” he continues, “your nonprofit isn’t doing well, financially. I heard you discussing the numbers with Glimmer the other day.” His tone gets soft and gentle, supportive, like Adora isn’t failing to keep the nonprofit afloat. “It’s bad, isn’t it.” It’s not really a question, and he reaches over to grab Adora’s hand as he says it.

Adora looks around their kitchen, refusing to meet his eye. “Maybe,” she admits, and then places her head against the table again. “I just. I wish we could use all this popularity to our benefit.”

Bow cocks his head. “Isn’t that what—”

“Yeah, it is what Catra said, but — I don’t know, Bow. We knew each other _so_ long ago.”

Bow sighs and rubs circles with his thumb over the back of Adora’s hand. “I support you,” his says eventually, obviously deciding not to ask Adora about Catra, and gives her a meaningful look. Adora’s shoulders slump. She manages a grateful half-smile that slowly becomes a real one.

“I love you so much,” she says, standing up and walking over to rest her head on top of Bow’s, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “You are the best best friend I could have asked for.”

“Best best friend?” responds Bow questioningly, a little muffled. “Like best friend times two?”

“No, like, you’re my best friend but also the best. Best best friend.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Aw, Adora—” Bow swivels on his seat and buries his face into Adora’s chest “—I love you too. A lot.”

Adora buries her nose in Bow’s hair, and sighs. “I’m going to end up fake dating her, huh.”

Bow makes a noise that sounds a bit like a confirmation. Adora sighs again, and holds him tighter. “I can’t believe,” she says, “that after however many years, Catra is pulling me into _another_ scheme, and I’m going to go along with it. I mean. I’m going to complain the whole way through, but.” 

“It’s good for you,” says Bow, semi-apologetically. And then, after a moment, and carefully, “What was she like in undergrad?”

Despite herself, Adora smiles. “She had an undercut, you know. A bunch of piercings, this whole sort of ‘fuck the system’ thing going on, except she never failed anything, ever. God, it was _so_ annoying. Freshman year, I really struggled, right. I wasn’t doing well in school _at all,_ and I was so, so embarrassed. And she just kept aceing things without looking like she was trying.”

“I hate those people,” says Bow into her shirt.

“Me too,” says Adora, and laughs. “But I found out later that she did work really hard, she’s just. She’s complicated. But she was my best friend, and I — I loved her for a long time, so.” She shrugs. “We roomed together sophomore and junior year, too. We really were Catra-and-Adora.”

“Do you miss it? Her, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” says Adora honestly. “People change. We just sort of grew apart and stopped texting, calling, whatever.”

“And now she’s a multimillionaire CEO.”

“Right! How she got Hordak to retire and make her head, I will never, ever know. But she’s like that. And now I get to pretend to be her girlfriend.” Adora untangles herself from Bow and sits back down at the kitchen table. “The world is the weirdest place, I swear.” She laughs again, and this time, Bow laughs with her, knocking her shoulder.

Later, though, when Bow’s gone out with Glimmer, she still pulls out her old shoe box full of photos and breathes in deeply. She settles on top of her bed and picks one out at random, peering at it closely. Its date has been written in sharpie on the back — sophomore year. She’s got bangs, and an arm slung around a laughing Catra; her hand is clutching a beer. Both their cheeks are flushed.

She picks up another one: a creep shot taken by Catra of her trying to pin up her bangs and frowning into a mirror. One eye is squinting and her face is wrinkled in concentration. An unflattering expression. It makes her suppress a smile now, and she puts the photo back down gingerly. Another: a picture of Adora with the other declared Medieval Studies majors. There’s three of them.

And another: a picture of her and Catra as Catra is climbing a tree and Adora is watching. Her expression is soft in the picture, alight and beaming at Catra, though her eyes are a little dark with worry. She’s pulling at a strand of hair that’s too short to have made it into a ponytail, distracted. It makes her heart ache now, to see the love and affection in her expression.

The more she pulls out, the more pictures she finds of Catra. Catra, doing a bad dance while clearly drunk. Catra, in a feather boa and making a stupid face in a Halloween store. Catra, trying to sketch in their dorm room. Catra, looking soaked and miserable after getting caught in a rainstorm. Catra, pulling at Adora’s arm and rolling her eyes, mid-sentence.

There are pictures of Adora, too, but they’re all just as obviously captured by Catra. 

She sighs and thumbs at a particular favorite, the two of them in front of Catra’s junior year visual art showcase. Catra’s beaming, and Adora’s not looking at the camera, but instead at her friend, and she’s smiling too, but more softly. Her bangs have finally grown out enough to make for a messy ponytail, and her cheeks are flushed. She looks happy, and proud.

Adora sighs and casts a glance at her phone. She has Catra’s number. She could text her right now if she wanted to.

Her phone pings with a text from Glimmer instead: _do u have plans tonite???_

_I was thinking of going over the finances again,_ she writes back, and it’s not exactly a lie. Before she did take out her photos, she was intending to do exactly that. She frowns and places the pictures she’s scattered along her bedside back into their places and puts the lid over the box. She slides it under her bed and looks over at her desk.

She could check the finances.

_orrrr,_ responds Glimmer, _u cld come out to dinner w bow and me. im paying_

adora (6:13 pm): _You don’t have to pay_

glimmer (6:13 pm): _but i want 2_

adora (6:14 pm): _Hmmm fine but i’ll cover drinks_

glimmer (6:14 pm): _bow called dibs on drinks_

adora (6:14 pm): _You guys are playing dirty )-:_

glimmer (6:15 pm): ♥️♥️♥️

“Tell me, Ms. León—”

“De León, actually.” Catra blinks up at her interviewer and gives him a toothy smile. She readjusts her white button up and tugs down the shoulders of her blazer, and the photographer clicks another picture as she does so. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she lies smoothly, and brightens her smile. “What were you saying?”

“Yes, sorry, Ms. de León,” says the reporter, “Just that we here at the magazine were hoping for confirmation on your relationship with Adora Aguilar.”

Catra sighs. “I’ve just become one of the youngest CEOs in Silicon Valley, and it’s put me under the spotlight in…” she pauses, trying to come up with the right phrase, “…several different circles. Adora, as you can probably tell, is a much more private person.” She flicks her wrist, and her new, expensive watch peaks through her jacket sleeve. “We’re discussing how to handle the attention and how to respond to it together. That’s all I’m comfortable saying before we come to a solution we are both happy with. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” says the reporter, and offers Catra a tight-lipped smile. “Why don’t you tell our readers about the spotlight you’ve been forced under as a CEO?”

“Well,” responds Catra, looking seriously at the reporter, “I think it’s obvious to say I don’t look like other CEOs in Silicon Valley. When Hordak retired last year or so, he was worried about this — a young, trans Mexican lesbian in charge of his multimillion-dollar tech company?” She scoffs. “And though I was — and am — good enough, was behind several deals and management changes that made the company more successful, some of our business partners didn’t feel that I was the right decision.”

“I see,” says her interviewer.

“It was hard, at first,” continues Catra, doing her best to sound as emotional as possible. “The public thought Horde Industries was being too ‘PC’ or whatever. The other companies thought I was too unlike them. Not a lot of allies,” she adds with a dry laugh. And then to sell it, she sobers up and lets her voice crack, just once. “At first, I was really lonely.” She forces a smile and takes a breath, appearing to recover. “But I’ve done more for Horde Industries than even I thought was possible in the past year or so as CEO. And that’s what matters, in the end.”

She knows what will happen next. Later, in the car, Scorpia will tell her it was her best interview yet, and Catra will laugh and make fun of her interviewer’s face when he thought she was going to cry. “You should have seen it up close,” she’ll cackle, and Scorpia will laugh too. “He looked so panicked for a second there. It was the ‘oh, I could be so fired’ face.” And then she’ll say lightly that she probably gave him the best interview of her career, and Scorpia will agree, and then they’ll get lunch before she goes back to work.

And she’s right; that’s exactly what happens. The only thing she isn’t expecting is her phone to ding with a notification, and its message, which says, _Hey, this is Adora. Are you free Wednesday for coffee?_

She smiles even wider when she gets it, though. Everything is falling into place.

Adora sits across from Catra on Wednesday afternoon. There’s an unexpected rain shower outside, and Catra’s grumpily brushing off droplets from her grey wool overcoat. Adora feels a little underdressed in her red flannel and jeans. “I just want to say,” says Adora, doing her best to convey importance in her tone, “I am not happy about this.”

“Right,” says Catra. She looks far too pleased with herself.

“I’m serious,” says Adora.

“I know.” Catra takes a sip of her matcha latte. “Thank you for doing this for me, Adora.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” replies Adora. “This is so that the nonprofit stays open. My cause is really important, okay.”

“You don’t need to pitch it to me,” says Catra, holding her hands up. “I know that you live for doing good.” And then, as a quiet afterthought, “I trust you to do good with the money I give you.” Adora’s silenced for a second before Catra barrels on. “Which you will be given. Including my initial donation—” she slides the check across the table “—and the grant from my company. Along with access to other wealthy elite in San Francisco.”

“I… Isn’t that public information, though?” Adora chews her lip. “Won’t it be, like, nepotism?” She frowns. “Romantic nepotism? What is that? Is that still nepotism?”

“Please,” says Catra, rubbing at her temples. She levels Adora with an unimpressed look. “I have this all thought out. We can just say that after we approved your grant — which we were supposed to approve months ago, anyway — we met in person and realized that we went to college together. We decided to reconnect and ended up dating. Does that work for you?”

“Uh,” says Adora, “what does ‘end up’ mean?”

“Who wants to ask out who?”

Adora screws up her face. “Maybe you asked me out? Because I was too nervous it would interfere with the grant?”

Catra whistles. “And here I thought you were a bad liar!” 

Adora lets out a short laugh, and belatedly realizes she’s blushing. “Shut up,” she says, and it makes Catra laugh along with her. “We still don’t have a good enough story.”

“Always critiquing me, huh,” says Catra, rolling her eyes. “Alright then, how does her high and mighty genius think we ended up together?”

“Well,” starts Adora, “since you asked. I think that we went out for drinks and probably reminisced, and then we made it a weekly thing, or something? And then one week we kissed, maybe? I have no idea.” She groans into her hands. “You were right. I’m a terrible liar. I can’t do this. Maybe this whole deal was a mistake and I should just accept that the nonprofit is doomed.”

“Don’t say that,” snaps Catra, and Adora, surprised, peeks through her hands. “You’re obnoxiously hardworking, with the kind of diligence that comes with a stick up your ass. Don’t let your head get to you.” She reaches over and flicks Adora in the temple. Adora makes an affronted noise. “Seriously. That’s a great story. Not an epic romance, but mundane enough to be believable. We decided to keep it on the downlow because I was under a lot of stress at work due to my new position as CEO.”

“Okay,” says Adora.

“Satisfied?”

“No,” admits Adora. “We’ve barely reconnected.”

Catra lets out a short laugh. “I forgot how obsessive you were, princess.”

Adora flinches at the old nickname, and then feels warmth flow through her cheeks again. “Whatever,” she mutters. “I’m just not interested in being attacked by the internet, the best lie-detector ever.”

“Chill,” says Catra. “We have the banter down. Whenever we don’t have an answer, we can just tell people that we’re ‘private people’ and that we don’t want to share our whole life stories. We’ll be fine.” She takes another sip of her matcha latte and looks out the window with disgust. “Ugh, this weather is horrible. I hate April so much. Remind me why I live here.”

“You work here?” offers Adora.

Catra rolls her eyes. “Whatever, smartass.”

“Whatever to you too.”

“Maybe whatever will be our always,” drawls Catra.

Adora snorts. “Stop, that’s so cheesy. I thought you hated that book.”

Catra grins a slow grin — even if it’s been five or six years, maybe more, Adora’s surprised how familiar that expression is, their conversation is, and even though Catra’s changed, she hasn’t changed as much as Adora had thought. “You were the one that forced me to read it and _then_ see the movie. Remind me why we were friends again?”

Adora laughs and reaches over the table to flick Catra, who dodges. “You loved me,” she says.

“Whatever,” says Catra, rolling her eyes, but there’s a blush on her cheeks.

“I loved you, too, you know,” says Adora quietly, watching the guarded way Catra looks at her. It’s no simple thing, Catra’s expression, but it’s full of something close to nostalgia; Adora wonders, not for the first time, if she’s Catra’s “the one that got away” just like that’s who Catra is — or maybe was — to Adora. An almost, could-have-been, a possibility never explored.

Maybe even a regret.

“We were such disasters in college,” says Catra flippantly, but Adora knows what she means. “Not just the drinking and stupid shenanigans, I mean.”

“I know. I know what you mean.”

“I know,” replies Catra, and they’re both silent for a moment, contemplating.

“An-y-way,” says Adora, “we are _not_ done hashing this out.”

“Always working, aren’t you,” laughs Catra, spell broken. “Here, let’s take a selfie, and I’ll post it to social media.” She pulls out her phone and taps the camera app. Adora adjusts her hair for a moment, and then leans over. “Kiss me on the cheek,” says Catra, and Adora hesitates for half a second before complying, closing her eyes and pressing her lips against Catra’s left cheek.

She pulls back and Catra hands over the phone for Adora to survey the photo. It’s a good picture; the lighting is good, and the background isn’t too busy. Catra looks actually happy, eyes shining, and Adora doesn’t look uncomfortable, either — Adora looks natural like that, kissing Catra’s cheek with her eyes closed. It doesn’t look staged at all. “It’s a good photo,” says Adora, voice a bit hoarse.

“Yeah,” replies Catra, kind of quietly. She clears her throat. “I’ll post it to Twitter or instagram?”

Adora shrugs. “I don’t know. But we should, um, talk about affection.”

Catra taps something out on her phone and sets it down, then cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

Adora knows her cheeks are heating up again. “Like, uh, kissing, and stuff.”

“‘And stuff,’” echoes Catra, smile quirking up. “Adora, are you _embarrassed_?”

“No,” says Adora quickly. “I just, um.”

“You totally are. Oh my god. You so are.”

“I’m not, okay!” Adora laughs and scrubs at her face. “I just think it’s an important question!”

Catra laughs and leans over towards Adora. “I think so, too,” she says lightly. “I’m okay with affection. Are you?”

“Um,” squeaks Adora. How was that so easy for Catra? “I’m not sure. Maybe, like, cheek kisses and holding hands, and we can work up to, like, actual kissing? Maybe?” She realizes she’s twiddling her thumbs and bouncing her leg. She stills her leg and her foot starts tapping. Catra notices, too, and directs her gaze at Adora’s thumbs. 

“Okay,” she says breezily. “Do you want to meet up next week to keep talking about this?”

“Uh,” says Adora. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Good,” says Catra, smiling. “Great.”

“Great.”

Boy, this is a lot weirder than Adora thought it would be.

A couple hours later, Catra gets a text from Adora. It’s a link to a buzzfeed article. There’s nothing else written there, but Catra can feel Adora’s anxious-yet-pleased energies from across the city, even with only a link. Adora’s always been that predictable. She snorts and opens the tab on her phone, settling into her couch and raising an eyebrow as she reads the title:

**_Everything You Need To Know About Catradora_ **

_AKA, the couple that broke the internet last week._

She laughs aloud, and types back a quick message: _because i need a refresher on something i’ve been living_

Her phone pings. It’s probably Adora, and she’s probably indignant and over apologetic and awkward, and though Catra wrote the message to elicit a reaction out of her, she’s suddenly uninterested in writing to her so much as reading what the internet things of her (nonexistent) relationship with Adora Aguilar. She reopens the tab and starts reading.

_In case you haven’t been following the internet’s new favorite celebrity couple,_ _Adora Aguilar_ _, LGBT activist, and_ _Catrina de León_ _, Horde industries CEO, have finally confirmed their relationship in a tweet by de León. Ever since the theory became popular after an interview with Aguilar, people have been waiting for a response from the pair._

_Two weeks ago, de León was caught on tape complaining about LGBT homelessness being “annoying.” She later explained it was due to Aguilar’s application for a Horde Industries’ grant, saying that she was frustrated with having to discuss the topic. She followed up by writing that, as a member of the community, this issue would never be something she would take lightly and the quote was out of context. Many felt this wasn’t an apt apology, and continued to criticize the young CEO._

_In an interview with Aguilar,_ _the founder of a nonprofit for homeless LGBT youth_ _exclaimed that, “We barely know the context for that interview. [de León] says stuff she doesn’t really mean. She doesn’t actually believe LGBT homeless isn’t a problem; she just complains a lot,” leading the internet to theorize that the two were in a relationship._

_Photos later resurfaced that seemed to confirm this theory._

_Earlier this week, de León teased news about the couple in her interviewer with Eternia Magazine. “We’re discussing how to handle the attention and how to respond to it together. That’s all I’m comfortable saying before we come to a solution we are both happy with,” she wrote, and many fans took this as a confirmation._

_Today she posted a picture of the two of them and explicitly said they are dating. The internet has literally broken._

**_@lovrgrrl_ ** _on Twitter wrote: “This is the best day of my life!!!!!”_

_However, others are calling for giving the pair some breathing room:_

**_@froggylesbian_ ** _: “not to discourse but these are real people that we pressured into coming out...big yikes :/”_

Her phone buzzes just as she finishes the article with another incredulous text from Adora. _They didn’t even put in a link to donate to the nonprofit!!!!!!! Why did i even bother!!!!!!_ it says, and Catra cracks another smile. She lingers a moment on her text messages before she pulls up her Twitter and types out something instead of responding to Adora.

**@catradeleon** : @buzzfeed may have stalked my gf & i for pictures/evidence but didn’t even put up a link to donate to adora’s nonprofit. cute journalism.

It’s enough — an hour later she has a text from Adora that the article updated miraculously and an apology tweet from Buzzfeed; Catra’s secretly pleased Adora doesn’t have a Twitter. The corners of her mouth lift up and, content, she takes a sip of her wine.

**catra** (8:09 PM): do lunches wed work every week for you

 **adora** (8:11 PM): What?

 **catra** (8:11 PM): for posterity & planning

 **adora** (8:12 PM): Oh! Okay! Yeah

On Saturday, Catra pulls into Razz’s driveway with a bag full of fresh vegetables from the farmer’s market. “ _Hola_ ,” she calls as she steps out of her car and raps on the door. The paint’s peeling somewhat. She should probably arrange to have it repainted. “ _Soy yo;_ It’s me, Razz, I brought you groceries.”

“Catrina!” cries Razz, opening the door. “ _Hola, mija_ ,” she adds, pulling Catra’s head down towards her with her two hands and pressing a kiss onto Catra’s forehead. Catra grunts as Razz lets go and swings her door open, already walking into the messy living room with the speed of a teenager, not an old woman. “How are you, dearie?”

“Fine,” replies Catra, closing the door behind her. “I brought you groceries,” she repeats, as she makes her way to the kitchen to place them on the counter.

“Thank you, dearie,” responds Razz, smiling. She sizes Catra up, rapping her fingers against the side of her purple dress. Her eyes unfocus somewhat as she studies Catra, and then, unprompted, but wisely says, “Have you been making time for yourself recently?” in a tone that indicates she knows Catra isn’t.

Catra groans at that. “Razz,” she says, frowning, “Why don’t you ask about, like, my job like a normal grandmother?”

Razz pats Catra’s cheek. Her rings glint in the sunlight. “You will only succeed if you take care of yourself first,” she says gravely.

“I am succeeding!”

“Why don’t you go hang out with that friend of yours? The nice blonde one who knows Spanish?”

“Razz, I told you we fell out a couple years ago,” says Catra, and then pauses. “Actually…”

“And you say I have a bad memory, dearie,” replies Razz, moving towards the bag and pulling out the different fruits and vegetables. “Oh look, you brought me persimmons,” she adds, inspecting the orangey-red fruit happily. “I can bring pie to your tall friend, with the white hair. Sarah?”

“Scorpia,” corrects Catra.

“Yes,” says Razz, placing the persimmon down onto the counter. “She’s very nice.”

“She is,” agrees Catra. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“You never bring your friends over anymore, anyway,” Razz responds, pouting somewhat. “You should bring Adora over.”

“Oh, so now you remember her name.” Catra grabs the fruit and moves it to the fruit bowl.

Razz watches her and nods, pleased.

“We actually reconnected last week,” says Catra, aiming for nonchalant, even though she knows Razz knows her better than that. “Because someone on the internet started a rumor we’re dating. We’re going out for lunch on Wednesdays.” She pauses, and takes the corn that Razz has left on the counter and walks over to the fridge to place it in the vegetable drawer. “So maybe we’ll come visit.”

“I don’t like the internet,” Razz replies. “No privacy.”

Catra shrugs. “You like FaceBook memes,” she says, and then admits, “We also might be egging them on.”

  
  
Razz doesn’t respond to the FaceBook comment, peering closer to Catra, her glasses magnifying her stare. “So you _are_ dating, dearie?” She nods in approval, while Catra sighs. “It’s about time.” Razz’s eyes get misty, and she clutches a pepper to her chest. “I always knew you two were right for each other.”

  
  
“No, abuelita, we’re just pretending.”

  
  
Razz raises an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. You’re pretending for…” She waves her hand, “the internet?”

“Yeah.”

  
  
“Nothing good will come from this.”

  
  
“You’ll get to see her again,” counters Catra.

Razz shrugs at that. “Are you staying for dinner, dearie?”

  
  
“I always do,” says Catra, defeated, and tries to grab the pepper from Razz, who’s still clutching it tightly.

The next Wednesday, it’s raining again, and Adora’s waiting for Catra. 

She clutches a cup of coffee in between her hands. Glimmer and Bow are out for different reasons; the house is creaky but otherwise silent. She checks the clock: 3:17 PM. She said she’d be here seven minutes ago. Adora takes a sip of coffee. It’s lukewarm. She checks her phone: no texts. _Are u coming,_ she writes to Catra, and then places her phone back down on the table. She folds her hands.

The rain comes down in sheets against her window pane. She unfolds her hands and takes another sip of her coffee. Still lukewarm. She rests her face in her palms and looks at the clock. 3:18. 

Her phone buzzes. She snatches it up, triumphant, but the notification is just another spam email. When she puts it back down again, she’s feeling particularly dejected.

“Have you just been sitting there this entire time?” 

Adora snaps her head up. “Catra?”

Sure enough, it is. Catra’s a little wet, but not drenched — she must have remembered an umbrella — but still looks annoyed, as she so often does when it’s raining. She smiles, and gives a wave. “You weren’t answering the door, so I let myself in,” she says, nonchalant, and adds, “I hung up my jacket and left my umbrella in the hallway. I assume that’s fine.”

“I—yeah. You didn’t text?”

“I drove myself.”

“But it’s 3:18.”

“3:19, now,” Catra replies.

Adora groans. “I’m serious, Catra. You were late and I was just waiting for you, unsure if you were even coming.”

Catra blinks at her, as if surprised that Adora’s this upset. “Hey,” she says gently, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you didn’t know I was coming.” Her whole face transforms; her eyebrows knit together, the corners of her mouth turn down, and her eyes start to soften. She pulls out a box, which is wrapped. “I brought you something?”

Adora sighs. “It’s fine,” she mutters. “Do you want some coffee? I’ll make another pot.”

Catra rolls her eyes. “Adora,” she says. “Don’t be mad. I was literally caught in traffic.”

“You could have called!” Her voice is louder than she’s expecting. It volleys around the otherwise empty living room. Catra looks surprised again, then a little freaked out, holding up her hands in defense. Adora takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. “Sorry. I’m just — stressed. About this arrangement. I mean. We are lying to so many people. You know, my moms emailed me about this. My _moms_.”

“Chill, Adora,” Catra replies, and her tone is exasperated, but not annoyed. Softer. “I know your moms. They like me. It’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say!” Adora stalks into the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker with a couple jabs. Then she returns to the living room and throws herself back onto her chair. “They’re not your parents.” She sighs and slumps over the table, hiding her face in her hands. “If this comes out, Catra, I could lose all credibility with the shelter. It’s really important to me.”

Catra peels her hands from her face. “Adora,” she says gently, “I know.” And then, quieter still, “I know. I’m sorry. I should have called.”

Adora gets the sudden and unbearable urge to hug her, and though she stifles it, she suddenly craves Catra’s touch so desperately that tears well up in her eyes and she has to wrap her arms around herself. She shouldn’t have had any coffee. It’s making her irrational, jumpy, anxious. “I’m sorry, too,” she manages, “for shouting. I’m just. Stressed. I know I said that before.”

“Whatever,” replies Catra, in her typical ‘I’m tired of communication but I accept your apology’ way, which makes Adora snort. “Open your present.”

“Ooh, you got me a present?”

“Shut up. We’re dating.”

Adora grins. “No, we aren’t. You _like_ me, that’s all. This must be so embarrassing for you.”

Catra blushes — actually blushes, and averts her gaze. “Shut up, Adora. This isn’t because I like you. It’s because you have this outdoorsy, hiking lesbian thing—” she motions up and down with her hand at Adora’s outfit “—going on, and I doubt you have anything nice enough for the gala I need to take you to in a couple weeks. Okay?”

Adora glances down at her outfit, offended. “Hey! My sense of style is fine!” She’s in Timberlands, cargo shorts, and a tank top. It’s _practical,_ not _aesthetic._ “I can totally dress up.”

“I’d like to see you try,” replies Catra. “Prove to me there’s anything acceptable and not outdated in your closet.”

“Are you asking to see my room?” 

“I’m — what?”

“I’m just saying, that’s a little gay, Catra.”

Catra blushes harder. Adora laughs. It feels a little bit like college, teasing her; Catra has always been the person she’s understood most. The fact that she’s able to get under her skin is a testament to how similar they both are. Even if things have changed, if they’ve changed, Adora still feels like Adora-and-Catra, listening to Catra rail on about how she’s trying to _help_ and how Adora doesn’t appreciate her. 

“Fine,” interrupts Adora eventually. “What are you wearing?”

“Adora, did you just ask me what I’m _wearing_?”

It’s Adora’s turn to blush. “Not like that! I meant for the gala!”

“Right,” says Catra smoothly. “Of course.”

“Whatever!” Adora half-shouts, and tugs at the white box. She doesn’t know a lot about fashion, or anything like that, but she does recognize that the dress inside is _expensive._ Really, really expensive. She looks up at Catra and blushes, unable to form words for a moment, just searching Catra’s face for an explanation. Catra’s smirk eventually falls, replaced by a worried expression.

“You don’t like it.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Adora says quickly, “it’s that it’s, uh.”

“Not your style.”

“No,” she says, running her fingers over it. “I’m sure it’s my style. Is just. So expensive. I can’t accept this. What if I spill something on it? No, not just that. It’s too kind. I can’t, I—”

“Adora, stop.” Catra pulls out the dress from the box and Adora tries to hide a wince. Catra rolls her eyes and pins it against Adora; Adora takes it and holds it up for Catra. It’s a fitted white dress, with a gold belt; the dress has an a-line skirt and ends at her shins. The top is triangular and has a turtleneck. Adora peers down at it, hesitant to do anything but stand there. “Try it on,” urges Catra.

“Are you...sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Another eye roll. “I bought it for you.”

“I…” Adora glances down at the dress, and then sighs. “Okay,” she says.

“I’ll wait here,” Catra replies, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. “I think the coffee’s done, anyway.”

Adora nods and makes a quick exit. She tugs on the dress as quickly as she can, feeling awkward, and returns to the kitchen. “I couldn’t get the back all the way up,” she says, fumbling around for the zipper. “Sorry.”

“Here, let me.” Catra crosses the room and places a hand on Adora’s waist, warm through the white fabric. With the other, she gently tugs up the fabric, causing the dress to tighten around Adora. It feels slower, more precise than necessary: Catra stops at one point and presses her palm flat against Adora’s lower back, like she’s steadying herself, and then continues zipping up the dress.

Once she’s done, breath hot against Adora’s collarbone, she begins to tug at the collar, presumably to straighten out the mock-turtle neck, and then, satisfied, she drags her hands along Adora’s bare shoulders. Adora takes in a shaky gasp of air, electrified by the touch — Catra’s palms, steady, against her shoulders, turn her so that they’re face to face.

Catra’s eyes are lidded, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration. Her eyes rake over Adora in the dress, and Adora feels a flush of embarrassment that she’s in mismatched socks. But Catra doesn’t seem to mind: she eyes Adora’s hair, and then her gaze finds its way to her collarbone, then to her waist, and finally settles on Adora’s mouth, or slightly lower, near her chin. Adora scrubs at the spot self consciously.

“Does it look okay?” she asks, voice rough. 

“Yeah,” says Catra, quiet. “Yeah, it looks good. Do you have shoes?”

“Gold flats?”

Catra gives a nod of approval. “Now. You wanted to keep hashing things out?”

“Um, yeah. Can I change?”

“Adora, you’re a celesbian,” calls Bow a couple days later from the kitchen.

Adora looks up from her phone, where she’s been tracking donations to her organization. Somehow, Catra’s managed to guilt another wave of people to donate; she’s been puzzling over how to text thanks for the past half hour. “What?” she shouts back, standing up from her position on the couch and drifting over.

He’s standing over the oven, where something’s baking. A timer ticks down on the microwave. He waves his phone at her. “Buzzfeed wrote another article calling you a celesbian.”

  
  
“But I’m not a celebrity,” Adora says, puzzled, taking Bow’s phone and inspecting it.

“You are now,” he says.

“Are we allowed to tease you about it now?” asks Glimmer, appearing in the doorway.

Adora whirls. “How do you—”

“Bow texted me.”

  
  
“What? Why?” says Adora, aghast. “I’m not even a celebrity!”

Glimmer shrugs, walking over to the kitchen. “Everyone’s obsessed with you two. Catra’s really good at keeping everyone invested. She’s been tweeting cryptic things since you guys announced you were together.” She spies the timer, and then the oven. “Oh, Bow, what are you baking?”

“Lemon bars,” he replies, as Adora says, “You follow her on Twitter?!”

  
  
“Maybe it’s not time to make fun of her yet,” whispers Glimmer to Bow.

“I can hear you!” cries Adora.

“Look, Adora,” Bow replies, placing his hand on her back and rubbing a small circle. “You’re just...touchy about your friendship with Catra. We don’t want to put you under any more pressure.” He looks over to Glimmer meaningfully, which Adora interprets as an indicator Bow’s lectured her extensively on being supportive.

“I just feel so sleazy,” complains Adora.

“Right. _That’s_ the problem,” deadpans Glimmer, earning another look from Bow.

“It is!” protests Adora, and glances between Glimmer and Bow, who both seem unconvinced. “I just feel like I’m lying. What do I tell my moms?!”

“The truth?” offers Bow.

“But the internet—”

“—will produce conspiracy theories anyway,” Glimmer responds, rolling her eyes. “The amount of smear campaigns my mom has been through will tell you that. You know that’s why she never posted about me on social media when I was a kid, right?” She crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Just follow Catra’s lead and blow off anyone who doesn’t believe you guys.”

  
  
Bow nods.

“Fine,” agrees Adora. Then she pauses. “But you follow her on Twitter?”

“Someone’s got to keep track of what’s going on,” says Bow, rubbing another tight circle into her back. “We’ve been watching interview snippets.”

Adora blinks. “Interview…?”

“Yeah. Surely you’re going to have to do one with her sooner or later,” replies Glimmer, pulling out her phone and starting to scroll through the app. “She’s really good at them. Here, look at this one.”

_“Yes, sorry, Ms. de León,” says a reporter on Glimmer’s phone screen. “Just that we here at the magazine were hoping for confirmation on your relationship with Adora Aguilar.”_

_Catra, somewhat pixelated, sighs at that. “I’ve just become one of the youngest CEOs in Silicon Valley, and it’s put me under the spotlight in…” she pauses for a moment, making a pensive face, “…several different circles. Adora, as you can probably tell, is a much more private person.” She flicks her wrist, and a watch peaks through her jacket sleeve. “We’re discussing how to handle the attention and how to respond to it together. That’s all I’m comfortable saying before we come to a solution we are both happy with. I’m sure you understand.”_

“Huh,” says Adora, quiet. “She was always good at knowing what to say.”

She listens to Catra redirect the conversation to talk about her time as a CEO, taking Glimmer’s phone and handing Bow’s back to concentrate on it.

_“It was hard, at first,” continues Catra on screen, sounding emotional. “The public thought Horde Industries was being too ‘PC’ or whatever. The other companies thought I was too unlike them. Not a lot of allies,” she adds with a dry laugh. At that, she sobers up and her voice cracks. “At first, I was really lonely.” She appears to force a smile and take a breath, trying to recover. “But I’ve done more for Horde Industries than even I thought was possible in the past year or so as CEO. And that’s what matters, in the end.”_

Adora pauses the video at that. “I remember when she started working for them,” she says. “We, uh. That’s around when we had a falling out and stopped talking so much.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” says Bow quickly, while Glimmer elbows him.

Adora nods. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I guess I should have just texted, or something. She deserved to have someone in her camp.”

( _he deserved to have me in her camp,_ she thinks, but doesn’t say it aloud. Glimmer and Bow don’t correct her).

**adora** (7:45 AM): We’re celesbians!!

 **catra** (8:32 AM): i don’t want to know what that means

Adora pulls up at the sleek office building of Horde Industries and peers out at it in shock. She’s never visited before; it gives her a pang of guilt to realize that. She frowns, wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans, the nice ones because Catra asked her to dress up, and makes her way to the door.

The inside is white and pale. She balks at it, but Scorpia is at the door in a suit, and she waves excitedly at Adora. “Hey, stranger!” she says cheerfully, sidling up next to her and slipping an arm into Adora’s. “Hope this is okay. I’m a hugger. Just a big fan of physical contact. Let me know if it’s not okay, and I’ll stop.”

  
  
“Okay,” says Adora, and pauses. “Yeah, it’s okay.” She frowns. “I’m uh, here to see Catra?”

Scorpia nods vigorously. “I know! It’s super awesome you two are dating,” she adds.

“Uh, yeah,” says Adora, and looks down at Scorpia’s arm in hers. Scorpia has some great biceps; she lifts her arm to touch them and says, surprised, “Do you work out?”

  
  
“Sure do,” replies Scorpia. 

“Awesome,” says Adora, and flexes her own bicep. “I’ve been hitting the gym lately.”

  
  
“Nice,” agrees Scorpia, flexing her arm. “Pretty impressive, Adora.”

“Eh, I don’t have a lot of time these days,” Adora says as modestly as she can. “I’d like to hear your workout routine,” she adds as Scorpia leads her across the lobby and towards the elevator. She squeezes Scorpia’s arm as she flexes, whistling as she does so. “Seriously, your muscles are insane, wow.”

“You’ll get there,” Scorpia says, untangling herself from Adora to swipe her keycard at the elevator. “It’s just some work.” The elevator doors slide close with a _ding._ Scorpia presses a button. “Catra’s on the top floor. She’s waiting for you. Apparently you two have a photo shoot today?”

“Something like that,” says Adora. “I’m not really sure, actually.”

“Eh, Catra knows what she’s doing. She’s good with publicity.”

  
  
“She always has been,” replies Adora.

Scorpia beams. “That’s right! You two knew each other in college, right?”

  
  
“Yeah,” laughs Adora. “Undergrad. Seems like a different world now, though.”

“What was she like?” Scorpia’s voice gets lower as she wiggles her eyebrows. “Do you have any embarrassing pictures?”

  
  
Adora pauses, then pulls out her phone, grinning wickedly. “I _must_ have some pictures of Catra wasted saved. We used to party way too much together,” she adds, as she begins scrolling through her saved photos. “Catra was really big on seeming like she was laid back and cool even though she could have been valedictorian.”

  
  
“Catra was always a go-getter, huh?” says Scorpia fondly, looking over Adora’s shoulder.

Adora takes a moment to find a selfie of them where they’re obviously wasted. Scorpia coos and grabs the phone from her to inspect it. In the photo, their eyes are lidded and Adora’s mouth is open in an unflattering way. Catra is pressed up against her in a black and red flannel, undercut on full display and earrings up her ears. She’s looking at Adora with a half-smirk.

“This is amazing,” says Scorpia. “She’s gonna be so embarrassed.”

  
  
At that, the doors _ding_ and open.

“Embarrassed of what?” asks Catra, arms folded over her chest while she inspects the two of them.

Scorpia holds out Adora’s phone. “Old pictures!” she says with glee.

“Adora, what the hell, you have these _saved_?!” cries Catra, making a move for the phone in Scorpia’s hand.

Scorpia moves it up higher, out of Catra’s reach.

“I’m not going to jump _in my office_ to get it,” says Catra, crossing her arms again and pouting. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you two alone together.”

  
  
“You should send me these,” Scorpia tells Adora, handing her back her phone. “They’re amazing.”

Adora takes it gratefully, and punches at Catra’s shoulder lightly. Catra rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting back a smile. “Come on, Catra, you know they’re just pictures. I think they’re nice, anyway,” says Adora, looking down at her saved photos. “I still have some polaroids, too, if you ever want to see them.”

“You’re gonna show me the next time I come over whether or not I say yes, aren’t you?” says Catra with a sigh.

“It’d be nice if you said yes first,” replies Adora, shrugging.

“Whatever. Come on, we’re gonna be late,” says Catra, tugging her into her office. Catra’s planned a lunch for them, but she’s tipped off some paparazzi so that they’ll inevitably be photographed. “I know you like Mexican food, anyway,” she adds, because if she’s making Adora do this, the least she could do was pick a restaurant she knew Adora would like.

“Okay,” says Adora, bobbing her head.

“Also, you have to change into this,” Catra adds, rummaging in her desk. She pulls out a turtleneck. “I’m going to change as well.”

  
  
“What, why?”

“If there’s at least one competent reporter,” Catra says, smiling, “They’ll recognize this shirt as the one I wore to a panel a few weeks ago. And I’ll be wearing this—” she holds up a t-shirt with the logo of Adora’s nonprofit printed on it “—in case no one notices. It’ll be enough to fuel at least three more Buzzfeed articles, or whatever.”

  
  
“Only Buzzfeed?”

  
  
“TMZ isn’t as big a fan of lesbians, let alone trans ones,” Catra replies, shrugging. “We might only get one article from them.”

  
  
“Only one,” gasps Adora, pretending to be shocked. “How terrible!”

Catra snorts, and kicks at Adora’s ankle. “Whatever,” she says. “Just put that on.” With that, she begins to unbutton her own top.

“Uh, Catra—?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want me to turn around?”

  
  
Catra turns to look at her, frowning. “Yeah?” she says, but her voice sounds a little rough. Adora coughs, cheeks suddenly red. “I mean, if you want to watch…” she winks, trying to recover, and undoes another button in an ostentatious way. “Either way, make it fast, princess. We’ve got a scheduled lunch to get to.”

“Okay, okay,” says Adora, and tugs her own shirt off to pull on Catra’s. Catra tracks the movement, then flushes and turns around to finish putting on Adora’s shirt.

She gulps when she turns around again to check out Adora, her eyes widening. “That bad?” says Adora, tugging down at the fabric. The shirt clings to her arms in a flattering way; Catra can see the outline of her musculature. Adora shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not really my style.”

  
  
“No, uh,” says Catra, and shakes her head. “No. You look really, really good,” she adds, and exhales. “This is going to be great.”

  
  
“Awesome,” says Adora.

“Awesome,” repeats Catra. Her gaze is still on Adora in her shirt. “Yeah. Awesome.”

“You know,” says Adora, just to be an ass, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you thought I looked good in your shirt.”

  
  
Catra flushes. “Shut up, Adora,” she says. “We’re gonna be late.”

**Exclusive Photos of Catra De León Caught Wearing Adora Aguilar’s Shirt!!! — TMZ**

**How Catradora Broke The Internet This Week — Buzzfeed**

**Catra de León ‘CONFIRMS’ She Lent Aguilar Her Shirt — Dailymail**

**glimmer** (4:23 PM): did Adora ever have really, really bad days in college?

 **catra** (4:24 PM): who is this?

 **glimmer** (4:25 PM): glimmer. sorry, Adora gave me your number

 **catra** (4:25 PM): why????

 **glimmer** (4:25 PM): i asked?

 **catra** (4:26 PM): no, why are u texting me?

 **glimmer** (4:26 PM): Adora’s acting weird

 **glimmer** (4:27 PM): Bow suggested i text you for advice bc we cant figure out whats going on

 **catra** (4:27 PM): hold on, i’ll call her

_Incoming: call from Catra de León._

Adora picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Adora?”

“Hey, Catra,” says Adora softly. She’s curled in her room; the blinds are shuttered, but her eyes have adjusted so that she can see the blankets that are crumpled over her bed and the clothes strewn over her floor. She sits under her window, holding her phone and trying to ignore the mess, which is making her feel even worse.

“Your friends texted me.”

“Oh.” The floor isn’t cold anymore, and she feels too hot. She pulls off her t-shirt and sits in her sports bra with her back pressed up against the wall, which is a little cooler, but not enough. Her whole body itches; she feels all wrong and wonky and it’s hard to breathe. “Sorry,” she whispers.  
  
“I’m outside,” replies Catra breezily, in that way which means she’s not bothering with Adora’s guilt right now. Adora squeezes her eyes shut. “Can you let me in?”

“Key’s under the welcome mat,” says Adora, and presses her head between her knees.

There’s a long silence. “Okay,” says Catra, quieter. “Okay.”

After a couple moments, she hears Catra’s soft footsteps walking up the stairs. “Hey, Adora?” she asks, tentative, outside Adora’s door, rapping her knuckles gently on the door. Adora flinches and squeezes her eyes shut harder. “I heard you were having a bad day. I brought takeout to make you feel better.”

“Come in,” manages Adora.

“You’re not even going to ask me what kind?” 

She hears the door open and shrugs. Her head is still in between her legs.

“Adora,” murmurs Catra, voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Adora. “Thanks for coming, though. I know you’re busy.”

“Nothing my ass,” retorts Catra, and Adora looks up: Catra’s looking at her with her head tilted, more of an inspection than anything else. Her expression is worried, though, and soft, like Adora really is being concerning right now. She looks around Adora’s room, and sighs. “What’s wrong?” she repeats.

“What kind of takeout?” asks Adora instead.

Catra holds up the plastic bag. “Fine, we don’t have to talk about it. It’s Chinese. Do you want to eat in here or…?”

“In here,” says Adora. “On the bed?”

“Sure.”

Catra’s in a hoodie and leggings, like she’d been working out or something; they look soft. She climbs onto the bed and taps the space beside her, laying out the boxes of takeout onto Adora’s wrinkled sheets. “We can do laundry after,” she says, shrugging. “Or I can. Clearly something’s wrong.”

“You don’t have to,” Adora says, standing up and stretching. Catra’s eyes track her stomach for a moment, then flick away. Adora moves over to her closet, where she keeps that foldable table for eating in bed and pulls it out. “This might help, anyway,” she says, brandishing it in Catra’s direction.

“Of course you bought a fucking table for eating in bed,” Catra says, fondly.

Adora laughs. “Maybe,” she shrugs. “I just don’t like being messy.” At that, her mood darkens again as her eyes flick to the laundry strewn over her floor. She looks back to Catra, suddenly uncertain. “It’s not too dark in here, is it?” There’s a little light filtering in from the open door.

“No,” says Catra, “unless you want more light. I’ve got better vision than you do, anyway.”

  
  
“Thanks,” says Adora. “Actually, do you see my glasses on the bedside table?”

Catra turns and frowns. “Uh…yeah,” she says. And then, “Come to bed, Adora. This food smells really fucking good.”

“Okay, okay,” laughs Adora, and climbs onto the bed, unfolding the table and setting it down. She and Catra rhythmically place the to-go boxes out on it, and Catra wordlessly passes her a pair of chopsticks. Adora grabs the nearest box and snaps her chopsticks, moving to open it and start eating.

“You’re going to get splinters!” Catra says, snorting, and moves to take her chopsticks away. “Rub them together first.”

  
  
“Shut up, I’m hungry,” giggles Adora, but lets Catra take them and slide them against each other anyway.

“Look, now you won’t hurt yourself in the attempt to feed yourself,” replies Catra. She fixes Adora with an incredibly fond look, then pauses and looks away abruptly. Adora frowns, then shrugs and goes back to the green beans she was eating. “I have your glasses,” Catra says, and pulls away to reach for them. “Do you want them?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” says Adora, and Catra hands those to her, too. Their fingers brush. She puts them on, and smiles at Catra.

“You look like a dweeb,” says Catra, bumping at Adora’s shoulder.

“Whatever,” replies Adora. “What’d you get, by the way?”

“Your favorites,” Catra says, shrugging.

Adora pauses with a mouth full of green beans, barely chewed. She looks over to Catra in surprise; she knows her cheeks are stuffed like a chipmunk’s, but she can’t help but wipe at her mouth and stare. Catra looks away, abashed; Adora’s pretty sure Catra’s cheeks are redder, but it’s hard to tell in this light. “You remembuhed?” she says around her green beans.

“Ew, chew, Adora,” says Catra, laughing. And then, “Yeah, dummy,” much softer.

Adora chews and swallows. “Oh,” Adora replies softly. “Oh.”

“Whatever,” Catra mutters, looking away. She grabs the rice.

Adora bumps her shoulder against Catra’s. “Thanks,” she says quietly. “I know you’re busy, so.”

“Whatever,” repeats Catra. “Do you wanna talk about it yet?”

Adora sighs and shrugs, opening the box of chow mein and stuffing some into her mouth before she speaks. “I just read some, uh, theories. About how we’re faking it, and it was so close to the truth, Catra, that I freaked out because what if everyone figures it out? What if everyone knows and then I’m exposed as a sham and then no one will ever donate to my nonprofit ever again and then—”

“Adora,” Catra says, and Adora shuts up. “What side of the bed do I like to sleep on?”

“Uh, left, why?”

“What about my favorite number?”

“The smallest odd perfect number. Why? What’s the point of this?”

“Favorite food?”

  
  
“Catra, what—”

“Favorite food?” Catra repeats insistently.

Adora sighs. “Razz’s empanadas that she makes every year for your birthday. You always have some in your freezer.”

“What pyjamas do I wear to bed?”

  
  
“That ratty old tank top and those sweatpants of mine that you stole. I guess that could have changed, though.”

“It hasn’t.”

  
  
“A— _ha_!” Adora pauses and whirls on Catra, whose head is tilted and she's watching Adora with a bemused expression. Adora shoves her chopsticks in Catra’s direction; Catra ducks out of the way. “So you admit to stealing my sweatpants!” exclaims Adora. “I want those back. Those were the softest pair I had!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Catra replies sweetly.

“Catra!” whines Adora.

“Adora,” mocks Catra.

“I don’t get it,” says Adora. “So I know your favorite number.”

“You know a lot of shit about me, Adora. You know my favorite color, probably, and because you’re you, you probably also have my number memorized. You know Razz, and my worst fear, and my favorite band, and how I secretly love Legoland, and how if you ever tell anyone that _I will kill you._ We’re a convincing couple because we know each other so well.” Catra shrugs. “The internet will always have crazy theories.”

  
  
“But they’re _right,_ Catra.”

“If we went on one of those couple shows, we would kill it,” retorts Catra. “Everyone thinks those are just crazy theories. There’s lots of complaints about their existence.”

“You promise?” Adora whispers, suddenly embarrassed.

“I promise,” says Catra softly. “We’re gonna be okay. And if they do figure it out, I’ll take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” says Adora, and sets down her take-out box. She pauses for a moment, and then pulls Catra into a crushing hug. She knows she probably smells terrible — she hasn’t showered — and that she’s really only in a sports bra, but Catra freezes and then relaxes in her arms, returning the hug.

Adora stays like that for a moment, burying her head into the nook of Catra’s neck, breathing heavily. She realizes distantly she’s crying a little bit, quiet sobs echoing in the silence of her room. Catra rubs small circles into her back, not saying anything as she holds her, just waiting for Adora to pull away.

Eventually Adora does, and sniffles, wiping at her nose with the back of her palm. Catra doesn’t even mention her smell as they look at each other, and Adora sighs. “Sorry,” she says, kind of wetly. “I didn’t mean to—”

Catra shakes her head, and kisses Adora’s forehead softly.

They go back to eating their food in silence.

“Catra?” says Adora again, after a couple moments. “Why did you come?”

“Your friends texted me?”

“No, but — why?”

Catra sighs, and gestures in Adora’s direction with her chopsticks. “I know this is all a ruse, but I liked being your friend, Adora. I should have called more when I got that job at Horde Industries. You should have made more time with your nonprofit, yadda yadda. Whatever. I missed you, idiot.”

“You missed me?” repeats Adora, pleased, leaning in for another hug.

“Shut up,” says Catra, trying to push Adora away and laughing. “You smell terrible.”

“You just hugged me!”

“Because you needed it!”

“So you _do_ like me!”

“Shut up,” repeats Catra, but she’s giggling too hard to make it convincing.

“I’m never going to remember these,” sighs Adora, flopping down on Catra’s living room floor a week later. She’s printed out flashcards of important faces to remember; Catra’s been testing her for the past hour. Catra thumbs through the deck, frowning as Adora covers her eyes with her arm dramatically.

“You just need some kind of reward system,” says Catra.

“I don’t know what you mean,” says Adora.

“I don’t know,” snaps Catra. “What kind of reward do you want?”

Adora shrugs. “Ice cream?” she offers, and Catra snorts.

“Ice cream is great and all,” says Catra, “but I don’t think we should eat a bowl every time you get, like, ten right or something.” Adora gives her a look that says, _I could eat that much ice cream,_ and Catra rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say you _couldn’t_ eat a bowl every time you get so many right, I said you _shouldn’t_.”

  
  
“Sure,” says Adora. “Ugh. I’m never going to be a convincing girlfriend.”

“You already are,” says Catra, shrugging.

“Like,” Adora barrels on, “Should I hug you when I see you in public? Kiss your cheek? Your mouth? Should I practice kissing you?”

“Do we need to practice?” says Catra, but it suddenly comes out winded. Her gaze, unbidden, flicks to Adora’s lips.

“Well,” says Adora defensively, “the last time I kissed you, we were in college and it was on a dare.” 

Catra shivers at that memory: Adora’s lips against her neck, on her collarbone, Adora’s teeth against her lower lip, against her earlobe. She swallows. She can’t help but track the way Adora’s tongue swipes at her lips. “Do you, uh, have any chapstick?” asks Adora, and sticks her hands in her pockets. “I think I’m out.”

“Oh,” says Catra, shakily. “Sure. You want me to get some?”

“Yeah,” says Adora, “sorry.”

Catra nods, and goes to grab some chapstick, passing it to Adora. She tries not to watch Adora put it on, but manages to watch anyway.

Adora doesn’t seem to notice. Classic Adora, oblivious as all get out. “So, uh,” says Adora. “Let’s try again. Maybe if I get everything right we can go out for ice cream.”

“If you get more than five wrong,” challenges Catra, “We’re going out for garlic ice cream.”

“Ew, I hate that stuff,” laughs Adora. Then she sobers, her brows furrowing as she rubs her hands together. She claps, then cracks her knuckles one by one, fixing Catra with a determined look. “Okay, okay. That’s a good challenge. Let’s do it. I promise I’ll get all of them right this time.”

“Sure,” says Catra.

(Adora gets exactly six wrong and they get garlic ice cream. She pouts the whole way, though, so Catra lets her get chocolate as well and eats Adora’s garlic scoop.)

Catra waits for Adora impatiently; she sent an Uber for her at least twenty minutes ago. “Come on, Adora,” she says, checking her watch and sighing, “We’re gonna be late.” 

“Sorry!” shouts a voice down below as if on cue. A car has pulled up, and Adora gets out and slams the door shut. “Sorry sorry sorry!” she calls, cupping her mouth over her hands and looking up at Catra, who’s watching from her front doorstep, unimpressed. Adora tugs at her hair and says, “Glimmer wanted to curl it.”

She steps into the light, and Catra swallows: Adora looks good. Her hair is out of its ponytail, curling slightly and held back by some gold clips. Catra can’t tell, but she thinks Adora’s wearing makeup. She’s also in that dress Catra brought over, the white one, complete with gold heels and gold dangling earrings that glint in the light.

“You look nice,” says Catra.

Adora blushes and looks down. “Thanks,” she mumbles at her feet. “You look good, too.”

Catra knows; she’s in a red button down and black pants with gold race stripes; her white suit jacket matches Adora’s dress with gold wings on the shoulders. She’s put her hair up in a ponytail. “You ready?” she asks, offering her arm. “My car’s in the garage.”

“Yeah,” says Adora, taking Catra’s arm. “Let’s do this.”

She sits in the front seat of Catra’s car, fiddling with the radio. Eventually, she settles on the oldies station, humming along to hits from the eighties as Catra drives. It’s a nice car, objectively. Probably worth more than Adora’s house. Catra doesn’t really fuss over it, though, and when Adora mentions it, Catra just says, “This old thing? It does its job.”

“So does my car,” protests Adora.

“Adora, your car literally broke down every couple of months.”

“I bought a new one!” lies Adora, and at a stoplight, Catra turns for a moment to give her a long, flat look that says, _I saw it parked in your driveway, dumbass._ “Okay, fine,” says Adora. “Mine breaks down a lot. I can’t afford one as nice as this, okay?”

“Don’t get your feathers all ruffled. This is just to keep up appearances,” replies Catra smoothly, looking back out to the road ahead. 

Adora wonders that if Catra weren’t in an impossibly expensive outfit on her way to an incredibly fancy function, her arm might hang out of her car window, and she might be driving a little more casually. But Catra’s hands are tight around the wheel as they drive, the only indication she gives for being nervous.

“So tell me again,” says Adora. “This is hosted by several tech companies, including Horde Industries?”

“Yeah,” says Catra. “I don’t really know. It’s not important.”

Adora frowns. “Catra, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I know it’s a gala for the organizations we’re choosing to support in this upcoming year, but I don’t really know what all of the organizations are for, or who planned it.” Her knuckles are turning white against the wheel.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” says Adora. “You just told me all the details.”

“Can we go over how to introduce your charity again?” says Catra instead. “I don’t want to fuck this up. A lot of these people don’t like me because I’m young, I’m gay, I’m trans, I’m not white, whatever.” She rolls her eyes, but Adora can still see the nervousness there. “I just want it to go well.”

“I won’t fight anyone,” offers Adora.

That does it. Catra snorts and relaxes slightly. “Please don’t,” she says, laughing.

Adora turns the music up a little louder, and sings along.

The problem with the gala is that it’s _boring._ Adora knew it would be; functions like this always are. But it doesn’t help that Catra knows everyone, knows what to say. She “hello”s and “what’s up”s and “good to see you”s for exactly the right people, weaving in between a thousand middle-aged wealthy men who all look the same to Adora.

She always politely introduces Adora, saying words like “partner” and “friend” and “girlfriend” based on the person they’re talking to, and Adora tries to keep up. She’d told Adora in the car that _partner_ meant to only bring up the homeless youth Adora serves were LGBT if asked, that _friend_ meant not at all, and that _girlfriend_ meant to bring it up as soon as possible.

“What a lovely charity,” people say cooly when she gets it wrong. Or, “Very interesting,” without taking the business cards she brought with her.

It’s infuriating. She wants to scream.

Catra, the whole time, is incredibly aloof; she’s barely looked at Adora or even in Adora’s direction. Adora ends up taking several ten minute breaks in the bathroom just staring at her phone and trying to remember how to breathe.

Whenever she comes back, Catra says, “You agreed to do this,” in a low hiss. 

Adora, frustrated, takes a flute of champagne from one of the servers and smooths down her dress. “I know, I know,” she whispers back. “It’s not your fault, it’s just—” She swallows and smiles as one of her potential donors walks by, nodding to the two of them. Catra’s frown similarly curls into a pleasant smile.

  
  
“Welcome to my world,” says Catra neutrally, maintaining her smile. “I know it’s hard, but you also can’t make me look bad,” she adds, and it’s so condescending Adora wants to punch something.

“Yeah, whatever,” mutters Adora, taking another swig of champagne from her flute. “Do you want to do another lap?”

“We have to,” replies Catra, offering her arm.

Adora doesn’t take it.

They do another lap. It’s similarly _the worst._ Adora’s so bored she could scratch her own eyes out. She takes a deep breath and remembers how nervous Catra had been, in the car; she thinks about the way she’d teared up in that interview Bow had shown her. Catra was good at this because she had to be.

Catra’s beginning to look nervous again. She’d had two glasses in the past twenty minutes, whereas Adora has only just finished one all night. She’s starting pulling Adora around to avoid people, unlike at the beginning of the night, where she’d handled the barbed compliments and passive aggressive disdain with grace.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” says Catra, which is what Adora’s been doing all night.

“We can step out for a moment,” offers Adora. Catra looks up at her, surprised. “Just five minutes,” she adds quickly. “I know this is an important event for you. I’m going to stick to it, okay? Even though it sucks.”

  
  
“It does suck,” agrees Catra in a breathy whisper. “Alright. Let’s go outside, princess.”

  
  
She pulls Adora along and finds a balcony with no one on it. The air is growing cold, and goosebumps form along Adora’s arms. She leans over the edge, admiring the twinkling lights of San Francisco. Catra smiles as she sees Adora look over the edge, breathing in deeply and rubbing at her arms.

“Nice view, huh.”

“Yeah,” breathes Adora. A breeze blows back her hair; she shivers a little.

“Need my coat?”

“Catra, you don’t have to—”

Catra’s already taking it off and shoving it in her direction. “Don’t get anything on it, or I’ll kill you.”

“You threaten to kill me way too much for a healthy relationship,” says Adora, laughing. She shrugs it on, though, and it fits her well enough. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and looks out again at the view. “I wish I could see stars, though,” she says. “I think I’d trade stars for a city anyday.”

“Sure,” Catra says. She bites back a _it’s lucky we’re not in a real relationship, huh?_ because, for some reason, she finds herself wanting to pretend. Just for a moment.

Adora looks back at her, frowning. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk. Tipsy,” corrects Catra. “But the cold air is helping.”

Adora rolls her eyes, checks Catra with her hip. “Sure,” she says. “Tipsy.”

“We’re gonna have to go back inside in a moment,” says Catra, even though she doesn’t want to. 

Adora turns and tugs on Catra’s arm, pulling her close. “Just a little longer,” she pleads. “I know you hate all those stuffy CEOs as much as I do.” Catra lets herself be pulled; Adora smells like soap and laundry detergent, nothing fancy or unexpected, but _familiar._ Adora’s smelled like this ever since college.

“Remember when you used to sneak out onto the roof of our dorm?” asks Catra, as Adora leans her head on her shoulder.

“You mean,” snorts Adora, “You used to sneak out and make me come with you.”

“Same thing,” Catra says, laughing.

“Sure,” says Adora. “Sure.” And then she pauses. “I really am sorry I got so wrapped up in my nonprofit that I didn’t have time to, you know, contact you after we fought. I can’t even remember what the argument was about.”

“I didn’t contact you either,” says Catra, and it’s enough of an admittance for both of them. She doesn’t say, _also, I was in love with you and I needed the space so desperately because my heart was starting to break._ Instead, she wraps her arm around Adora’s waist and refuses to look over to see if Adora’s studying her.

“I missed you,” says Adora.

“Yeah,” says Catra. “I missed you, too, idiot.”

“You ready to go back in?”

“You actually want to go back in?” asks Catra in disbelief. “Come on, princess, I can tell you hate this with every fiber of your being.”

“Yeah,” says Adora. “But you brought me here to help me. Also, it’s important to you. I’d do it for you even if it didn’t help me.”

She untangles herself from Catra and shrugs off the blazer, holding it out. For a moment Catra is silent, processing the knowledge that Adora cares enough about her to do just that. “We just reconnected, though,” she says stupidly as she begins to put back on her jacket, and Adora rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, and?” asks Adora. “You know I’ll always care about you.”

“Same,” says Catra, before she can convince herself not to say anything. She takes a deep breath and looks back at the party. “Ready to go sell your charity to a bunch of rich assholes?”

“No,” says Adora, and pulls her inside anyway.

Adora insists on driving on the way back. “You’re more tipsy than I am,” she says when Catra protests, and refuses to let Catra back down. Catra’s embarrassed to admit she doesn’t mind it, that she kind of craves knowing that Adora wants to take care of her the way she wants to take care of Adora.

God, it’s been like two weeks and all Catra wants is what she’s always wanted.

Adora doesn’t seem to notice; she sings stupid 80s hits again as they drive back to Catra’s place, and Catra lets her, mostly because it’s cute and stupid and Adora looks so dorky as she bobs her head to the songs. 

It’s not that late, but the roads are mostly empty by the time they are nearing her neighborhood. It’s just them and expanses of black road and stoplights casting colorful shadows over Adora’s face. “I love this song!” she exclaims as _I Want You To Want Me_ comes on, and glances over to Catra.

“I know,” says Catra, rolling her eyes. “Dork.”

“You love it,” says Adora, sticking her tongue out. Her eyes are already looking forward, but she trusts Catra to see her expression anyway.

Something about that trust makes Catra’s heart clench slightly. “You staying over tonight?” asks Catra. “I’m not tired yet. We could watch a movie? Do something...calming?”

Adora goes quiet, then glances back over to Catra. “You’re still stressed from the gala?” she asks, sounding concerned.

“What? No!” Catra says quickly and — unfortunately — unconvincingly. Adora rolls her eyes, knowing her too well, even still. Adora doesn’t argue, though, doesn’t make her admit that events like these make her want to crawl out of her skin. She’s good at them, sure, but she hates everyone in those rooms.

“A movie sounds good,” says Adora, as they pull into Catra’s driveway. “Can I borrow my sweatpants, though?”

“Sure,” Catra says fondly, laughing.

“Okay,” agrees Adora. “Let’s go.”

Catra pulls her upstairs towards her bedroom, which — unlike Adora’s — is fairly neat. Sure, her closet’s a mess, but Adora’s not looking when she digs through it. Adora’s bent over the pictures Catra keeps beside her bed, pictures of Scorpia and Entrapta and Razz. “How is Razz?” asks Adora eventually.

Catra pulls out the aforementioned sweatpants and a t-shirt. “She’s good. I bring her groceries over the weekends. She asked about you recently.”

  
  
Adora’s eyes go wide. “I miss her! Can you tell her I miss her?”

  
  
“Why don’t you come over for dinner or something?” Catra says neutrally.

Adora smirks. “Catra, are you inviting me over to your grandmother’s house for dinner?”

“Shut up, Adora. She already knows you.” Catra shoves the clothing into Adora’s chest. “Put these on, and we can watch whatever you want.” That’s a lie — Catra will probably criticize Adora’s choices until Adora gets fed up and lets her pick, but they both know that, so Adora doesn’t correct her.

“Sure,” says Adora. And then, looking out the window, “wait.”

“What?” Catra’s already halfway out of her room to give Adora space to change.

“You have a _pool_ and you didn’t mention it?”

“Yeah?” Catra fixes Adora with a look. “What? I’m rich. Why _wouldn’t_ I have a pool?”

Adora shakes her head. “No, I mean, you have a pool and you didn’t mention _swimming_?”

“I don’t like swimming!” protests Catra, but Adora’s already got a look in her eyes that says she’s not going to give up. Adora turns and tries to move the sliding glass door that separates Catra’s room from the backyard. “Adora,” snaps Catra. “I said I don’t like swimming. Come on, let’s watch a movie.”

  
  
“Bullshit,” says Adora, having figured out the door. “I call bullshit. Is that what you tell everyone? I know you secretly like it. You just never felt comfortable enough to do it in public in college.”

“I hate you,” says Catra.

“I know,” says Adora, already slipping outside and beginning to strip out of her dress. She leaves it crumpled on the concrete, so she’s just in boyshorts and a bra. “Come on, Catra,” she says, beckoning to come towards her. “Come swimming with me! It’ll be fun! I mean, you have a _pool_.”

Catra sighs and picks up Adora’s dress, moving it back into her room and draping it over a chair. “I’m good. You can swim if you want.”

“Please?”

Adora’s got abs. Catra didn’t realize this until now; she swallows at this realization, and at the thought of water dripping down them. She closes her eyes. “I can just watch,” she says.

  
Adora frowns. “That’s no fun,” she sighs. “You’re being a terrible girlfriend.”

“Lucky for you,” says Catra, “we’re not dating.”

Adora’s frown deepens, and for a moment she looks actually hurt. Then she sighs and says, “We can just watch a movie if you really want.”

“No,” says Catra, suddenly feeling guilty for no fucking reason at all. “Come on, let’s go swimming.” She obediently begins to take off her clothes, but unlike Adora, she actually takes care to fold them neatly. They’re _expensive_ and even if Catra has the money to replace them, it’s a hassle to.

She turns on the lights to the pool, so that it shines with bright blue light, casting shadows over Adora’s face and highlighting her silhouette in cyan as Adora faces away from it and towards Catra.

Adora swallows as she watches Catra. “Alright,” she says. “Come on, then.”

Catra’s just in her underwear and a bra. For a second she feels terribly exposed, feeling her skin goosebump in the cool air, but Adora flashes her with a grin and takes a running jump and cannonballs into the pool. 

Catra gasps as she’s splashed; Adora pops her head up and wipes at her eyes. Her makeup’s running slightly. She doesn’t notice, and instead gives Catra a lopsided grin, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Did I get you?” she deadpans. “Oh no.” And then she swipes at the water to splash Catra again.

“You little—” snarls Catra, and jumps in herself to start splashing at Adora.

They spend at least twenty minutes laughing and swiping at the water, splashing each other. Adora just squeezes her eyes shut and makes huge clapping motions; Catra, taking advantage of this, slips underwater and swims around Adora, splashing her back so that she jumps, surprised, then turns to splash in that direction instead.

Catra circles closer and closer with precise splashes that cause Adora to splutter and cough up water when she’s not laughing. Adora raises her eyebrows and says, “You’re on,” or tries to, but Catra manages to get her in the middle of it, and she swallows some water instead of finishing her sentence.

Then she lurches towards Catra, swimming closer as Catra backs up, splashing at Adora like it’s going to make a shield. “No, no,” she laughs, trying to draw Adora away, but Adora just keeps barreling forward.

She tries to slip underwater, but Adora grabs her wrists and pins her to the wall of the pool. “No you don’t,” says Adora, snorting a little bit. “You’re gonna pay for splashing me.”

“You started it,” says Catra, wiggling. Adora’s grip is iron-strong. She swallows. “What are you gonna do, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” admits Adora, giggling, but she doesn’t let go. 

Catra tilts her head up in defiance, just a little bit, and suddenly Adora’s stopped laughing and looking at her. The water is still moving, so it casts shifting lights over Adora’s face, illuminating it. Suddenly, Catra’s aware of how Adora has her pinned, how Adora’s legs are between hers, and she takes in a shaky breath of air.

“Catra?” asks Adora in a small voice, and she sound so — so —

Catra shakes her head, and lurches upward to meet her lips to Adora’s. Adora freezes, her grip relaxing on Catra’s wrists, which Catra takes as an excuse to tangle her hands into Adora’s wet hair, and at that Adora suddenly reanimates, kissing Catra like her life depends on it.

Her mouth opens; Catra’s tongue swipes against her lower lip and into Adora’s mouth. Adora makes a quiet noise, moving to place one hand in Catra’s own hair, tugging Catra even closer. Catra’s legs wrap around Adora’s waist and Adora’s other hand finds its way to Catra’s underthighs.

She sighs into the kiss: it feels so right. So inevitable, like Catra’s been kissing Adora for years and years. She’s barely thinking, just feeling the slide of Adora’s body against her, the sloshing water, and chest bursting with some indescribably large _want._

They kiss for a while, just sighing and gasping against each other, until finally Adora pulls away. “Are you sure about this?” she asks, and in the rippling water, Catra can see her lips are swollen from kissing, pupils wide.

“Yeah,” says Catra, pulling Adora close. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Good,” says Adora with a giddy laugh. “I’ve wanted to do this for years?”

  
  
Catra snorts. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know?” says Adora. “Kissing you is so awesome. I can’t believe I haven’t been kissing you for so long.”

Catra laughs, and surges up again. Adora meets her halfway.

(Later, when they break apart again, Adora says, “Wow,” giggling slightly.

“Dork,” says Catra, pulling her towards her bedroom).

**glimmer (11:21 am)** : adora did u spend the night at catra’s?????

 **adora (11:22 am)** : Yah sorry. should have texted

 **glimmer (11:22 am)** : are you guys…. 👀...you know

 **adora** (11:23 am): Idk let me ask

“Hey, Catra,” asks Adora, looking up from her phone. “Glimmer wants to know if we’re dating.”

“Tell Sparkles whatever you want,” says Catra, from the stove. She’s making chilaquiles. 

A pit of nervousness forms in Adora’s stomach and she swallows. “Can I, uh. Can I tell her we’re dating?” _We didn’t kiss all of last night for pretend, did we?_ is her unspoken question there.

Catra pauses what she’s doing, and looks over to her, cocking her head. “Is that what you want?” she asks, softly. Adora’s suddenly struck with guilt; the way Catra looks at her is full of caution, like Adora’s a small animal that might scare if Catra moves too quickly or speaks too loudly. Like Catra wants as badly as Adora does, but doesn’t want to freak out Adora with the enormity of her desire.

“Yeah,” says Adora. And then, just in case she’s managed to read everything wrong, “Do you…?”

“Yeah,” says Catra quietly. “Yeah.”

“Awesome,” says Adora.

Catra snorts. “Dork,” she says again, fiddling with the stove before looking back to Adora with a smirk. “Did you just say ‘awesome’ in response to dating me?”

Adora stares at Catra for a long time, then gets up from the couch and moves closer to her to press a kiss to her lips, hands settling on Catra’s waist. “I stand by the sentiment,” she murmurs, pressing another kiss to Catra’s cheek, then forehead, then nose. “Plus, you like it.” She grins. “You like me.”

  
“Shut up,” laughs Catra, “I’m trying to make you breakfast.”

**Catra And Adora Play With Puppies While They Answer Fan Questions [VIDEO] — Buzzfeed**

**10 THINGS WE BET YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT CATRADORA — TMZ**

**How Catra de León Is Changing The Face of Silicon Valley — Teenvogue**

Adora stands outside of her moms’ house with a bottle of wine. Catra stands beside her, alternating between squeezing her hand and moving her thumb back and forward in a comforting motion. “It went well with Razz,” points out Catra, trying to be soothing. “And your moms love me. You know Light Hope appreciates a good success story.”

“Yeah,” says Adora, frowning. “I just—” She stops. “It’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah,” says Catra, bumping her hip to Adora’s. “Let’s go in. I even brought Settlers of Catan, so we can do a game night after dinner.”

“Do you want my moms to stop liking you?!” cries Adora, but there’s no real nervousness behind it. She’s laughing, having relaxed slightly, and Catra rolls her eyes fondly, pulling her towards the front door. “I can’t believe I’m reintroducing you to my moms as my girlfriend,” Adora mutters, reaching up to knock.

“Yeah,” says Catra, just as the door swings open to reveal an excited Mara.

“Catra! Mija!” cries Mara, alight with joy. “Come in, come in! Hope’s in the kitchen cooking!”

Catra turns to Adora, eyebrow raised in a silent _see? this is going to go fine,_ and Adora feels her smile solidify into something real. She pauses at the doorstep, glancing up at the mezuzah hung above the door, and takes a deep breath. Catra kisses her cheek and they step inside, shutting the door behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if you liked it, feel free to comment or chat w me @figbian on tumblr/twit :-)
> 
> some notes:  
> -an explanation of catra's favorite number: a perfect number is when the sum of the proper divisors of n, is n; the joke is that the odd perfect numbers might not exist.  
> -adora's factoid abt lgbt youth & homelessness is true! consider donating to your local lgbt homeless shelter, or, in light of recent events, here [are](https://www.theokraproject.com/) [some](https://marshap.org/) [orgs](https://www.blacktranstravelfund.com/) to support black trans women.
> 
> update: now with [art](%E2%80%9C)!


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